Soup and Sniffles
by Canoodles
Summary: Little Sammy is sick and John isn't home. What's a brother to do? Wee!Chesters


A/N: Hi! This is my very first venture into Supernatural fanfiction writing, even though I've been a part of the fandom for over a year now. I was in the mood for some Wee!Chesters and some brotherly shmoop, so this happened. Enjoy!

Dean is around 10 and Sammy is 6

Dean awoke from a tug on his pant leg and a whimper.

"Dean, my tummy hurts."

Followed by a sniffle.

"And my nose is all stuffy."

He blinked blearily, squinting through the darkness. Sam stood by his bed, his chubby hands on his stomach and his lip trembling. "Jesus Sammy, it's like 4 in the morning." He pushed himself into a sitting position and turned on the lamp, revealing a very sick looking Sam with a red nose and a bed head that looked like it had been attacked by an angry lawnmower. His puppy eyes were on full force.

God it was cute.

The things he did for this kid.

"Come'ere." Sam practically flung himself into Dean's arms and immediately curled up by his side, grabbing onto Dean's t-shirt. Wrapping one arm around Sam's shoulders, Dean put his other hand to Sam's forehead. It was warm, probably not hot enough to be a problem, but not cool enough for Dean's satisfaction.

Sam sniffled again.

Well, first things first.

"Let's get you some tissues, huh?" Sam nodded and Dean grabbed a fistful of tissues from the nightstand. He held the tissues to Sam's nose as Sam blew, Sam's hands still fisted in Dean's shirt. "Gross Sammy, how much snot do you got," he teased, eliciting a giggle from Sam followed by a particularly loud blow. "Eugh."

With the tissues in the trashcan and Sam's breathing less congested, Dean moved onto the next order of business. "My tummy still hurts, Dean."

"I know buddy." Dean made to stand up and Sam whimpered, tugging Dean's arm back, puppy eyes back on.

"Don't go."

Dean smiled. Sick Sammy equaled a clingy Sammy. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just gonna go make you some soup, ok? It'll help your tummy feel better."

Sam didn't let go of Dean's arm. "Up?"

"You're getting too big for me to carry you little man, can't you wait here?"

One look at Sam's eyes and Dean knew he was doomed. "Goddamn it all to hell." He scooped Sam up into his arms and struggled towards the kitchen.

Sam made a face. "Don't curse Dean. Daddy doesn't like it when you curse. He says you're not re-responible," he said, struggling to pronounce the word.

"Responsible, Sammy. And it'll be our little secret, okay bud?" He ruffled Sam's hair and Sam gave a small grin, cheeks dimpling.

"Cool!"

Dean sat Sam down at the kitchen table while he pulled a can of soup from the pantry, Sam practicing his new word quietly with his hands on his stomach ("Ree-spawn-si-bowl. Respon-respon-sible. Responsible."). Pouring the contents of the can into a pot and turning up the heat on the stove, Dean silently congratulated himself. He knew, from much prior experience, that the easiest way to cure Sammy-tummy-aches was to get Sam distracted. Sam's mind tended to go off on long tangents when he was thinking.

So when Sam began to whimper again (Dean could never stand Sammy whimpering. It was so not cool), Dean began to ramble.

"How about tomorrow we go out to the fair? Dad'll be back by there, and we'll get ice cream and candy and I'll ride the Ferris wheel with you." _God _Dean hated the Ferris wheel. He never really did well with heights. But Sammy loved it. "And maybe we'll get those Batman shoes you've been wanting." Dean turned around and winked at Sam. "I'm sure the mall security here's as crappy as always."

Sam's eyes light up, though his arms were still wrapped tightly around his midsection. _Score._ "Really?"

"Really." He spooned the soup into a bowl and slid it across the table. "Eat up."

Sam sniffled (_looks like we'll be needing more tissues_) and took a sip. Almost immediately, his eyes scrunched up and he put the bowl down.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I burned my tongue."

_Shit._

Dean could have smacked himself in the face. Of course the soup would've been too hot straight out of the pot. He should have let it cool first. Stupid.

"My stomach still hurts, Dean."

"I know, buddy."

Sam's eyes filled with tears. "It really hurts."

"It's ok Sammy," Dean was immediately by his brother's side, picking him up and out of the chair with difficulty. "Let's get you back to bed, ok?

"Ok."

Laying Sam down in his own bed, Dean grabbed the soup from the kitchen and, after a second's thought, a spoon. He blew on the soup until he was satisfied that it wasn't at tongue-burning temperature anymore, and carefully ladled it into Sam's mouth.

"Is that better? Is it still too hot?"

Sam shook his head and motioned for more, which Dean promptly gave to him.

After much soup blowing, a little coughing, and a small spilling incident, the bowl was empty and Sam was still whimpering.

_What do I do now?_

After a moment's hesitation Dean climbed into the bed and put a hand on Sam's stomach, Sam's head resting against him. He began rubbing in slow, soothing circles, whispering into his brother's ear.

"It's ok, it's just a stomach ache right? You could kick its ass any day."

Sam sniffed loudly and Dean handed him a tissue.

"Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Promise?" Sam murmured into his brother's chest.

"Promise."

When Dean woke, Sam had sprawled himself all over the bed, a little bit of snot dripping out of his nose and onto the sheets. He would've taken a picture, except Sam had him pinned down and he could barely move his fingers, much less get the phone. Another time, maybe.

Sam woke moments later, his eyes cloudy from sleep. Letting out a tiny groan, he buried himself harder into Dean's chest. Dean chuckled. "Up and at 'em, Sammy. I think I'm losing circulation in my everywhere."

"Sorry Dean," Sam mumbled, and pushed himself off the bed, yawning. Dean followed, smoothing his hair back.

"You feeling better?"

"Yeah, lots." Sam beamed and threw his arms around him. "Thanks Dean!" A loud sniff.

"Looks like you've still got that stuffy nose, huh?" Dean handed him the tissue box. "Might as well carry this thing around with you today. We're gonna go to the fair, remember?"

"Yeah." Sam's grin grew impossibly wider. "You're the best big brother ever!"

Dean smirked. "I know."

"You sure?"

Both heads whipped around to the kitchen, where John Winchester stood with a piece of toast in his hand. "Daddy!" Sam cried, delighted, and ran straight into his father's arms, dropping the box. "You're back!"

"That's right, tiger," John said, nearly dropping his toast from Sam's enthusiasm. "What trouble did you two get into while I was gone?"

"I got sick," Sam said brightly, "but then Dean gave me tissues and made me soup, and then I burned my tongue on the soup, but it's ok because Dean fixed it, and then he rubbed my tummy to make my tummy ache go away, and he said that we could go to the fair today and he would steal Batman shoes for me!"

John looked at Dean, highly amused. "Really?" Dean blushed.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. And I learned a new word. Ree-spawn-si-bowl," he proclaimed, looking distinctly proud of himself before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Dean cursed even though you said he wasn't ree-spawn-si-bowl enough, but it's our little secret so don't tell anyone."

"Of course not," John said, fighting back laughter as Dean groaned ("Sammy! You're not supposed to tell him that!").

Sam looked unfazed. "So can we go to the fair and get Batman shoes? Please, Daddy?"

"As long as you bring your tissues and Dean promises not to steal anything." John gave Dean a pointed look as Dean rolled his eyes.

"I promise, Dad."

"Yay!" Sam squealed. He picked up his tissue box and bounded out the door. "Let's go!"

Shaking his head, John put a hand on Dean's shoulder as they followed.


End file.
